


Genesis

by gettingbetter



Series: Future Tidings [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Alcohol, M/M, Organized Crime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-14 16:59:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16916769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gettingbetter/pseuds/gettingbetter
Summary: You’re 21 years old when he sees you for the first time, and right from the start, you can’t get enough of his attention.





	Genesis

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, this is the start of a story I've had kicking around in my head for a few years. I've been inspired to write something based on the album Future Tidings by Gemini Club since I first heard it and after a few hundred listens, I figured, why not finally do it? Hope you guys enjoy the beginning (where not much happens, haha).

You’re 21 years old when he sees you for the first time, and right from the start, you can’t get enough of his attention.

You’re alone at the bar, waiting for your third beer when he slides into the seat next to you.

“This seat taken?”

“Most people ask before they sit,” you say, trying to play it cool, but the beers have gotten ahead of you and your cadence isn’t quite right. You always were a lightweight.

He fixes you with a steely gaze, one eyebrow raised, and you feel flustered. “Sorry. No, no one’s sitting here.”

“Good,” he says, and his focus immediately shifts away from you. He’s flicking through the bar’s specials menu disinterestedly. You wait for him to turn back to you. He doesn’t.

You look him over from the corner of your eye. He’s older than you, for sure. Maybe a decade older. He’s in a sleek, fitted suit. Like he’s just gotten out of a very important meeting full of people desperate to kiss his ass.

You tap the bar, antsy. You don’t know why, but this interaction has your heart racing. You want to impress him.

“Any reason you chose this seat?” you try.

“Well,” he says, putting the book down, “for starters, it’s a seat.” You look at him, confused. “Most people like to sit while they drink,” he explains, and you feel like a total idiot. None of this is going right.

“None of this is going right,” you say.

“Hm.”

“I’m Jeremy,” you offer up, a little desperately.

He looks at you, finally, and gives you a smile. Businesslike. “Nice to meet you, Jeremy.” He holds out his hand, and you shake it.

“Uh… what do you do?” you ask.

“I’m a business owner,” he says. You wait for him to elaborate. He doesn’t.

“Oh… you uh, have any openings?”

He looks you over, expression unreadable. After a tense moment, he nods his head to your tattoo.

“Got a military history?”

“Semper Fi,” you say, smiling confidently. He nods. “Not to brag but I’m kind of a badass with a gun.” He smiles and pats your shoulder. You feel a thrill at that. Like you’ve won his approval. And then, he turns back to his drink.

He doesn’t say anything for the rest of the encounter, sipping on his White Russian, but when he gets up to leave, he slides you his card. At least, you assume it’s his card. It’s a cold gray, with just a phone number on it. Minimalist.

“Is this your card?” you ask.

“Be seeing you,” he replies. He slides into his sleek coat, tips his head to the bartender, and heads for the door.

You stare after him, unsure what you’re feeling. Did that go… well? You can’t tell. You pick up his card, turn it around in your hands for a minute. It’s only after he’s been gone for five minutes that you realize he never gave you his name.


End file.
